


The Witch of Eichenwalde

by Sath



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Monster Hunters, Blood Drinking, Corruption, F/F, Gothic, Horror, ToT: Monster Mash, Trick or Treat: Chocolate Box, Trick or Treat: Extra Trick, Undead, Vampires, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-25 05:58:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12524568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sath/pseuds/Sath
Summary: In 1819, Overwatch is one of the last hopes for defending against monsters. But when Amélie is bitten, Angela has to make a choice.





	The Witch of Eichenwalde

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hyenateeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyenateeth/gifts).



Eichenwalde stank. Bodies had been left in the street, and the feral dogs that normally feasted on the dead were too frightened to pass through the gate. Crows could only do so much. Overwatch had sent Angela and Amélie to make the village safe again, though Angela could hardly imagine wanting to return to such a place.

A few survivors of the monster attack on Eichenwalde had made the journey to Overwatch headquarters. They had said that people had begun to go missing at the same time their lord stopped appearing in public. The villagers had hoped it was mere madness, or sadism. A simple murderer could be endured, as long as he didn’t raise rents too high. But one night monsters had descended from the castle, killing and devouring anyone who couldn’t run fast enough.

Eichenwalde’s tale was not unusual. The lord’s family would hang back and wait for Overwatch to do its work, then send the next of kin to take over the town.

“What do you think—witch or vampire?” Amélie asked, nudging a body with her boot to expose two long gashes on the corpse’s neck.

Not every corpse had been drained, and Angela felt the witch’s presence, a tingling at her scalp and fingers. The kind of magic that could have been hers, if she hadn’t chosen to heal instead. “A witch, with at least a dozen servants. We should be careful.”

“I’m the finest shot in world. And if we take the family jewels while we’re at it, who’s to tell it was us?”

“Amélie!”

Executing a graceful bow in the mud, Amélie replied, “I have my needs, and some of them are satin.”

“Well, if you insist that you _need_ it…”

There was no point in searching the town further when they already knew no one had been left alive. Instead, Angela followed the witch’s trail to the castle. Amélie kept her rifle at the ready, but nothing challenged them. The castle’s towering oak door hung ajar, creaking with every gust of wind. Angela took out her pistol and walked forward. Amélie extended her grappling hook, settling in one of the courtyard’s trees. It had frightened Angela at first, to be guarded by distant Amélie instead of Reinhardt. Now she knew that she couldn’t be safer—unless she turned around and walked away from the witch’s lair.  

Keeping both hands on her pistol, Angela used her shoulder to open the door wider, letting the sun shine into the entrance hall. Beyond its emptiness, the hall bore no sign of the chaos that had befallen the village. But the magic here was strong, quickening Angela’s blood. “Good afternoon,” Angela called out. “Did anyone call for a doctor? Physical exams are free!”

She heard claws scraping against the floor. A snarling beast sprang out from the shadows, moving so fast Angela barely had time to pull up her pistol before she fired. The monster kept hurtling forward, and Angela dodged out of the way as it crumpled to the floor, one of Amélie’s bullets in its head. She had only a few moments to inspect it until more came. What may have once been a human face had been distorted into something feral, and its body was covered in fur and rags.

Cold air blew across Angela’s face. She looked back just in time to see the door slam shut.

“My gifts take everyone differently,” said a silken voice, seeming to come from right by her ear. “But most become like the wretch you just killed.”

Only experience kept Angela from freezing in terror. “Who are you?”

“Lord Talon. I am the master here.”

“You murdered and tormented your own people,” Angela growled.

Talon chuckled. “Yes. It does make me a slightly more inconsiderate landlord than most. It’s an honor to be visited by Dr. Ziegler. You would make such a lovely witch, if only you’d give in. And who is with you today? The knight? Maybe the cowboy?”

“A spider.”

“Ah, the ballet dancer. I wonder what my gift could make of her. Something beautiful, I have no doubt.” The cold air dissipated, and Talon’s voice became distant as he said, “You may deal with my creatures however you like. They disappointed me. _Au revoir,_ Mme Lacroix, wherever you’ve spun your web.”

A gun went off behind Angela, the door’s lock blown to splinters. Amélie’s rifle appeared as she used the priceless weapon as a lever to open the door. “Are you hurt?” she asked, rushing to Angela’s side.

“I’m fine,” Angela replied, squeezing Amélie’s hand. “Talon’s the witch, and he knows who we are.”

“Damn it. Is he after Overwatch, or you?”

Angela grimaced. Her healing abilities had saved hundreds of people, even herself, but they were as supernatural as the monsters she hunted. Amélie must have noticed by now that Angela had not aged in years, though she had said nothing. “I’m afraid that he’s only after me.”

Talon would have probably fortified himself somewhere easily defended, like a vault or a crypt. Angela saw more monsters gathering in the darkness, foam dripping from their mouths. There were slight differences among them—some looked like sick humans, but others were so bestial they could not even stand on two legs. Amélie dropped into a crouch and killed the closest with a single shot. She coolly reloaded, took aim, and another monster fell. Angela fired into the group, clipping one in the shoulder and catching the next in the neck.

Even with Amélie, it should have been a harder fight. “This is a trap,” Amélie muttered, as she shot one of Talon’s creations. Angela silently agreed.

Nothing else challenged them as they searched for hidden chambers. They found a secret stairwell in the library that led to a lightless passage. Angela flicked on the gas lamp she carried with her and went ahead, hearing only Amélie’s footsteps behind her as they descended. Her breath soon started to mist.

“I hate being cold,” Amélie said. “I’m drinking Glühwein as soon as we get back to headquarters.”

“I’d love a glass—ah!”

Distracted, Angela slipped on the wet stone and caught herself by bracing against the wall. Her hand came away covered in chalky dust, and a small hole had been left behind. Angela dug at the hole, widening it until she could see the skull behind the wall. Amélie leaned forward to help her, knocking more stones out of the way. They saw more and more bones, and more skulls than any noble family could have produced in a thousand years.

It wasn’t merely a crypt for the Talon family; it was an ossuary, with who knows how many skeletons inside. Talon must have been collecting bones for years, gathering power from the disturbed dead. Angela felt their souls call out to her, weakly asking for an impossible resurrection. Amélie pulled her away.

The ossuary was illuminated by torches burning blue flame. The Talon family’s sarcophagi had been defiled, the lids heaved off and cracked. But one sarcophagus was untouched, and that had to be the current Lord Talon’s. Wordlessly, Angela took a firm grip on the sarcophagus as Amélie lit a flare. Witches, Angela knew all too well, were weak to fire. Angela pulled the lid down just enough to expose Talon’s face as Amélie threw the flare inside. They shoved the lid back up and leaned down on it with all their strength, trapping the witch with the flame. The lid bucked underneath them as smoke started leaking from between the slabs.

“Nothing more to say about me and Amélie, Lord Talon?” Angela asked. “No gifts to threaten us with?”

The lid cracked down the middle. Black smoke, almost man-shaped, rose up from the sarcophagus as Amélie and Angela stepped back. The outline of teeth appeared as Talon said, “I’m starting with you, Mme Lacroix.”

Amélie fired, but the bullet passed harmlessly through the smoke crawling towards her on too many legs. Talon sprang, grabbing Amélie by the arm and sinking his solid teeth into her flesh. She stabbed at him with her knife, staggering back as she tried to shake him off. Angela took off her gloves and buried her hands in Talon’s formless body, calling healing magic to her fingers. Talon howled, dropping Amélie’s arm and fleeing down a grating. 

“Stay in the sewers where you belong, parasite,” Amélie muttered, swaying on her feet as she rolled up her shirtsleeve. Talon had left four puncture wounds behind, which were bleeding sluggishly. “God, they’re so cold.”

Each hole was rimmed with black, as if Amélie had frostbite, and the network of veins nearby had turned an alarmingly dark shade of blue. Angela pressed both hands to the wounds, sending all the healing power she had into Amélie. The bite’s poison was spreading fast, and Angela despaired of stopping it. But she had to try, pushing her will down the rushing arteries until Amélie screamed in agony. She finally slowed the poison only a few centimeters from Amélie’s heart, and Angela breathed out in relief.

They both collapsed to the floor. Angela kept her hands on the punctures, healing the last of the damage until all that was left was four scabs.

“Thank you,” Amélie whispered, giving Angela a quick kiss.

“I’m sorry it hurt so much.”

“You’ll get better with practice—practice I hope you never get.” Amélie drew herself up by using her rifle as a crutch, then offered Angela her uninjured arm.  

“Talon’s out of our reach now,” Angela said, taking Amélie’s hand. “I’ve never seen anything as strange as that.”

“Winston might know,” Amélie replied, rolling her sleeve back down. “He’s strange himself.”

Mercifully, they were only a few days travel away from headquarters and Angela’s laboratory equipment. She didn’t trust that Amélie was fully cured, but didn’t dare say it aloud as they retreated from the ossuary. The poison had moved so quickly, and Talon was no ordinary witch. A few creatures crawled out of the shadows on their way out of the castle, emboldened by the setting sun. Amélie’s fingers spasmed as she fired her last shot.

“You’re not well,” Angela said. “You have to avoid using that arm.”

Amélie shook her head. “I know you can fix it. Let’s get out of here and then you can play doctor.” 

Angela helped Amélie with mounting her horse, and they set off into the darkness. They planned to camp somewhere along the road at night, as far from the village as they could go before the horses were exhausted.

“I see a light in the forest,” Amélie whispered. “I’d rather sleep on the floor than in the dirt, wouldn’t you?”

The light came from a distant hut, probably belonging to a woodcutter or a hunter. They approached slowly, not wanting to startle whoever was living out there. The hut was in good repair, made with wattle and daub, with thatching still smelling of the morning’s rain. Angela knocked on the door, adjusting her uniform to make sure the Overwatch symbol was visible. A young woman opened the hut door and looked out at them mistrustfully.

“Did you come from Eichenwalde?” she asked.

“We fought the creatures there,” Angela replied. “We need to rest for the night, and we can pay you.”

“The other woman looks sick.”

Amélie’s skin had gone sallow and she was holding her injured arm close to her body. “Yes, and there’s extra money in it for you,” Amélie said. “Are you going to turn away someone from Overwatch?”

The woman shook her head. “I’m Marcella. Come in—there’s some supper left.”

After Angela and Amélie introduced themselves, Marcella brought them two bowls of porridge. Her hut was clean, with fresh rushes on the floor and dried herbs hanging from the walls, but she had clearly lived alone for a long time. She was young to be living on her own, perhaps no more than twenty-five.

“Do you have any family, Marcella?” Angela asked.

“Monsters took them.”

“I’m so sorry.” She put her hand over Marcella’s. “We try, but we know we’ll never be enough. I wish we could be.”

The moment was interrupted by Amélie spitting out her soup. Her eyes were wide as she covered her mouth, looking at the soup as if it was something horrible. “Sorry,” Amélie mumbled before rushing outside to vomit.  

Marcella backed away. “Is she corrupted?”

“No,” Angela lied. “Please, just let us stay. I won’t let anything happen to you. Amélie’s harmless.”

“You brought someone turning into my house.” Marcella’s fact was contorted with fear.

Amélie appeared at the door, leaning bonelessly against the frame. There was a blueish cast to her skin that hadn’t been there a minute ago. “Will you let anything happen to her, Angela?” Amélie asked, scoring the door frame with her nails.

Angela took out her pistol and aimed it at Amélie’s chest. Please, Angela thought, don’t make me shoot.

“Marcella, you hurt yourself yesterday. Just a little cut on your finger as you chopped vegetables. But I can smell it.” Amélie opened her mouth, revealing the growing set of fangs.

Marcella screamed, and Amélie lunged for her. Angela blocked her off, trapping Amélie in her arms and wrestling her to the floor. Amélie started laughing.

“Careful, _ma chérie,_ our host has a knife,” Amélie said.

“Servants of evil!” Marcella shouted.

Angela turned just in time to dodge Marcella’s knife. There was no saving the situation now, but perhaps she could save Marcella. Angela took one of Ana’s modified darts from her belt and jammed it into Marcella’s thigh. The woman swayed on her feet and fell backwards. Amélie used the moment’s distraction to slip away and out the door.

Angela ran after her.   

“You can still resist, Amélie!” she called out.

Ill as Amélie was, she couldn’t stay ahead of Angela for long. Amélie finally turned and sighted down her rifle, keeping Angela at a distance.

“Leave me, or shoot me,” Amélie said. “But if you leave me, you’ll have blood on your hands as long as I live.”

“I can cure you. Just give me a little time.”

“No one’s ever cured a vampire.”

“But I haven’t tried yet.” Why hadn’t she? There were always so many other things to do, research that couldn’t wait another day, cities and towns and villages besieged.

“They won’t tolerate you, and your magic, forever. You become more dangerous every day. Talon whispered that to me. It wouldn’t be the first time Overwatch abandoned someone—like Reyes.”

God have mercy on Reyes. “He wasn’t himself.”

“And how much of yourself is locked into being the good doctor, accepting whatever the others decide, because none of them have ever trusted you, witch?” Amélie said the word ‘witch’ with disgust, and that’s what broke Angela. Her mother had been a witch. Her mother had burned for it.

“Don’t you trust me?” Angela asked, walking towards Amélie.

“I’ll kill you!” Amélie’s fingers tightened around her rifle.

“You won’t hurt me, Amélie, just like I won’t hurt you.”

“Liar!”

Close now, Angela cupped Amélie’s face in her hands. “I love you,” she said, pressing her lips against Amélie’s. She seemed to wait forever for Amélie to kiss her back. But she did, setting the rifle on the ground so she could hold Angela tightly. Amélie’s kiss was strange, her teeth sharp and tugging at Angela’s lips. Her tongue was cooler, though not so cold as her hands, which were caressing Angela’s breasts through her shirt. When Angela moved her hand down to feel Amélie’s heartbeat, it was hardly there—only a few beats a minute, too weak to keep her standing. The lack of oxygen explained the growing blue cast to her skin, but not why she was kissing Angela as if she were still truly alive.

“I’m so hungry, Angela,” Amélie groaned. “I feel myself slipping away and all I can think of isn’t you, but the blood in your veins. You’d taste different than anyone else.”

Angela pulled Amélie’s mouth down to her neck, shivering as Amélie reflexively opened her mouth, grazing Angela’s skin. “Take what you need from me. I’ll survive it, and I can get us to Overwatch.”

“They’ll kill me,” Amélie said. “Perhaps you too. They don’t trust anyone after Reyes. Angela, your smell, your warmth, your heartbeat—” Amélie cut herself off by licking Angela’s carotid.

There was nothing stopping her from allowing Amélie to slake her thirst, even if it kept them forever outside society. Angela had expected it for herself eventually, though Amélie didn’t deserve it. “Please, drink,” Angela said, tightening her grip on Amélie’s hair.

Amélie struck quickly. Angela hardly felt anything, just a sharp tug like an inoculation and then warmth spreading down her neck. Amélie was lapping at her skin, trying not to waste a drop. It was dizzying, and when Angela swayed, Amélie steadied her with the preternatural strength of her hands. Angela found herself moaning, crying out as if they were having sex. She felt Amélie’s teeth everywhere, building up so much arousal that her clit was aching. “More,” Angela murmured, tugging Amélie’s hand down into her trousers.

“I might kill you, my love,” Amélie replied, pressing two fingers into Angela’s already slick sex. Amélie was wrong, she couldn’t kill her—she could already feel her body regenerating, her magic keeping her alive as it always did. Angela felt Amélie’s thumb circle her clit she as used her other hand to tear open her shirt. The cold air of the coming night made Angela cling closer to Amélie, but she was even colder.

Amélie leaned down to kiss her breasts, growling before she bit down. Angela screamed, her climax sudden and strange. She understood now why anyone bitten by a vampire sought them out again and again, though it meant death.  

Her Amélie, still her Amélie, licked her lips. Angela tried not to dwell on how she must look right now, half-exposed and covered in her own blood. She pulled Amélie into an embrace, ignoring the sting in her breast and the healing wound in her neck.

“Stay with me,” Angela said. “You don’t have to kill anyone as long as we’re together. You don’t have to lose your humanity.”

“You’d make me into your servant,” Amélie replied. She seemed more curious than full of dread. Amélie had always been practical.

Angela kneeled, taking Amélie’s hands in hers. “And I would be yours. My servants, love, never die.”

Amélie smiled. “Forever, then. With no masters but ourselves.”

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Karanguni for the beta!


End file.
